


Affable.

by TheStoriesWeLoveBest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Pre-Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Violence, my version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 01:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10451475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStoriesWeLoveBest/pseuds/TheStoriesWeLoveBest
Summary: He hadn't been looking for her. He hadn't needed her, she was a distraction he didn't need.But she found him.Disclaimer: the characters aren't mine. They belonged to their creatrors (ACD and BBC Sherlock's creatrors).English isn't my first language, so sorry for my grammatical mistakes.Warning: there will be some scenes with violence.





	

**Author's Note:**

> «Journeys end in lovers meeting.»  
> William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night.

Three broken ribs. 

Sprain in two fingers of the left hand.

A serious injury in the right leg. 

And an open wound in the abdomen. 

His oponent wasn’t making things easy for him. Apparently he was going to lose that fight. 

“You should not have meddled, pretty face.”

A move to the left to avoid his fist.

The man carries a concealed pistol, at the waist of his trousers.

He will not use it till 5 seconds later.

Grab him by the wrist, twist it, pick up the gun. Aim at his head.

Too slow. He had not counted on the pain to realign his movements. The man could see his intentions. Sprained wrist. Sherlock fell to the dirty ground, he was glad of wearing that stolen clothes and not one of his suits. A kick in the stomach. He would throw up if there was anything to vomit, but there wasn’t. 

Now, the man grabbed his gun. 

Defense position, Sherlock thought. People always seemed to doubt when their opponents defense himself, and he only needed ten seconds of doubts to stand up again. But the man didn’t doubt. 

A cold gun against his fronthead. 

“You’re gonna die” he said, as if it wasn’t obvious. 

Someone shot, it wasn’t his attacant. The man had left the gun fell to the ground, next to him, he staggered for a few seconds, and then also fell. 

Dead man with a bullet embedded in his forehead. Sherlock took his time to normalize his breathing, his lungs hurt everytime he tries to breath normally. He started to feel numb.  
Heels. Someone in heels was coming till him, he coudn’t see whom, he could only see her ankles, on heels of six inches. It only could be one person, and he wasn’t happy about she wathing him like that, it gave her too much power over him. 

“Could you stand up?” She asked, nailing one knee to the floor.

He mumbled something that she coulnd’t understand because of the blood in his mouth. She helped him to sit up. There wasn’t tender and soft movements, but firm hands against his arms and all her strenght to move him. He spit to the floor, trying to crealn his mouth and she passed him a plastic watter bottle. He drank, thirsty as hell because of the days he had been prisoner of that people. 

“If you’re gonna end up with all of them you will need help,” she said. It was the first time, since Karachi, that he looked properly at her: serious face, pursed lips, intrincate knot in her long hair. She seemed her, she wasn’t suppose to look like her, like her old her, it was dangerous, she was technically and legally death. 

“I don’t need your help, Miss Adler.” He said, once is mouth is finally free from blood. 

“I wasn’t asking for your permision, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. Against all his wishes, he needed her to stan up. “Besides, it really seemed as if you were needing my help five minutes ago.” She smirked, putting a hand on his waist and allowing him to put all his weight on her. “You can take it as a payback, dear.”

He lost consciousness before they left the abandoned warehouse in which he had been locked up for days.


End file.
